Byron and Mortimer

Byron and Mortimer

By

Stephen Intlekofer

Illustrated by Jannon Baer

Copyright 2012 Stephen Intlekofer

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

Chapter 1

In this world there are many kinds of thoughts, and many kinds of things, and many kinds of animals… That’s the first line…

Byron’s thoughts trailed off and he began to simply stare. The first light of the sun was spreading across the distance outside his window. After a few minutes he snapped out of his trance.

Yes, a book, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll write a book, something different than anything I’ve ever written before. It’ll be a book about all the stuff that’s going on. And who cares if it’s ‘real’ or not. That’s for other people to figure out.

It was Monday morning, the last week of summer. Byron would have to return to school soon, and he was reclining in his bed, formulating a plan. Soon he was again in trance mode.

Mortimer sauntered into Byron’s room in his deliberate way. Toys were strewn everywhere with no rhyme or reason.

Always things everywhere for the big animals to play with and focus on. What’s the point?

Mortimer stopped at the side of Byron’s bed, where Byron was lost in contemplation of his plan. Mortimer jumped up on the bed and briefly, lovingly rubbed his face against Byron’s cheek. He followed that up by reaching out a paw and smacking him on the nose. In this moment, two of the many sides of Mortimer’s personality were revealed. Mortimer was also selfish, whimsical, sarcastic, joyful, grouchy, forgetful, playful, smart, stupid, lazy, and above all, moody.

Byron sat up with a start and immediately began fumbling around on the nightstand for his glasses. He sighed loudly when he realized what had interrupted his thoughts.

Ah, it’s you Mortimer. Of course. Always interrupting me while I’m making my plans.

That’s not the kind of greeting I like, said Mortimer.

Oh no? Well that’s too bad.

Byron sat back against his pillow and gazed down at the old cat with the dense black fur and bright green eyes. Mortimer was fifteen years old; his time in the world was nearly done.

I have a plan for us today, said Byron, who was about ten years old, pudgy, with thick glasses, red hair, and pale skin. We’re going to write a book.

A book about what? I’m hungry. That’s why I smacked you across the nose.

A book about a pair of animals just like you and me. These animals like to go out walking, just like you and me. They also enjoy eating outside in the grass, just like you and me. They like climbing too, just like you and me. They also…

Wait a second, Mortimer interrupted, holding up his paw. The important matter at hand is, when do I eat?

Byron rolled his eyes, hopped up out of bed, and headed over to his desk by the window. He looked out at his favorite tree. There was a slight summer morning breeze, and the leaves were waving at him.

You see that tree, Mortimer? That tree is going in our book. The tree will be called ‘Tree-Sir’

But that’s already his name, isn’t it? We named him yesterday.

That’s right, we did name him yesterday. Well, I’m confirming that name now.

He took a deep breath.

This book is going to be all about us and our everyday world.

All well and good, it’s just that we really need to eat, said Mortimer with more than a hint of impatience.

Byron opened the top drawer of the desk and pulled out his notebook. He took out a pencil and began to write…

In this world there are many kinds of thoughts, and many kinds of things, and many kinds of animals. Now, once again, Mortimer needed to eat. His friend Byron was there to witness it, as usual. Where they came from is not important. How old they are is not important. What they look like is not important. What is important is how everything works in their world. Things are like clockwork sometimes, and everything marches forward quite smoothly. Like when they sit down for lunch outside and it’s sunny, but then it looks like it might storm, and then it gets very cloudy, and then the wind begins to blow, and the birds all go and hide, and they look at each other and smile because everything is so exciting. And then they eat their food and wait for the rain to start. That’s when things work out just right. But then other times things are not so friendly. Like the day Byron fell out of the tree and broke his arm in three places, and Mortimer just looked over at him and didn’t seem to care that much…

Byron stopped and looked at what he had written. He had written a whole paragraph very quickly, but now he couldn’t think of what to write next.

What did you write? Read it to me, Mortimer demanded. Not that I care all that much at the moment, without any food in my belly.

Byron read him the paragraph.

It’s pretty good. But why are you always determined to list out everything in order? Why are you so attached to human sensical-ness?

I’m not attached. I just think people need to start with something familiar when they’re reading something. Then after that everything can start to get weird if it needs to.

Fine and good. When will Tree-Sir come in?

Soon. Beetle will come in too, and so will Rabbit and Tom and Medusa.

I see... Well, are you going to keep writing now or can we go eat?

OK, let’s eat and then we’ll go write outside.

So Byron got dressed and he and Mortimer headed down to the kitchen.

Byron’s home was called Blue Heron Farm. His family had a lot of land, and his dad still grew some crops on the farm, like soybeans and corn. His dad had another job too, running a hardware store in town. His mom worked at a bookstore on that same street in town. Byron was an only child, and his parents often left him alone during the day, especially in the summer. Today he was alone again as he traipsed down to the kitchen with Mortimer.

I think I would like some granola with milk, Byron proclaimed.

Mortimer jumped up on the kitchen table and stared at Byron as he fished around in the cupboard for his granola.

Where is my food?

Shush. I’m getting it.

Byron opened the cupboard and reached for a can of cat food.

When I find the granola I will sit and eat it. After that we’ll head outside for a bit with my notebook. I want to sit under Tree-Sir and figure out the next part of the book.

Byron opened the can and spooned the food into Mortimer’s bowl. Mortimer took a moment to ram his head into Byron’s leg while purring loudly in thanks, and then he tore into his food with gusto.

I was thinking, Byron began. What if the book started with all the animals and things we know and see every day, and then, all of a sudden, it wasn’t about those things anymore?

Mortimer did not look up.

It would change and become about strange things.

The sound of Mortimer’s chewing filled the room as Byron paused to think.

Maybe things we’ve seen in our dreams.

Byron started pouring his granola into a bowl and then went to fetch the milk from the refrigerator. Mortimer looked up from his nearly empty bowl.

Now that I’ve eaten a little I can think. I think I see where you want to go with this. You’re headed into the hallways of the imagination. At least that’s where I hope you’re headed. You just need to make sure you don’t waste anyone’s time dilly-dallying around.

Yes, that’s exactly where I’m headed, into those hallways. Sometimes you surprise me a bit with your cat wisdom. And, no, I don’t plan to waste anyone’s time, that’s for sure.

Mortimer nodded in proud acknowledgement before shoving his face back into the bowl. There were a few tiny bits of food left for him to consume.

Should we involve outer space? Byron mumbled loudly, his mouth full of granola.

I think outer space should be involved, Mortimer responded, sitting back on his hind legs and licking his long, grey whiskers.

Byron chewed and stared at a knot in the wood grain of the table. He swallowed and continued to stare at the knot.

That knot in the table looks like a galaxy. Explain that to me.

Mortimer was now licking his right paw. His paws were white puffs, like marshmallows, in sharp contrast to the jet black fur covering his body.

If the knot in the table looks like a galaxy, then we are supposed to include things and animals from other galaxies in our book, Byron said in a resolute tone.

Mortimer walked in his creaky, deliberate way over to his water bowl and started digging furiously in the floor directly in front of the bowl. This was the fastest he ever moved, during these sessions of imaginary digging. After about ten seconds he stopped and began drinking from the bowl.

You know there’s no dirt there right? Byron informed him for what seemed like the millionth time. You’re digging into the floor.

So you’ve told me, Mortimer responded, looking up from the surface of the water.

So why do you do it? Byron asked.

It’s just something I do. Is that a problem for you?

No, Byron responded.

His mouth resumed its chewing of the granola and Mortimer’s tongue resumed its lapping of the water.

Beetle asked me the other day about what I think the point of life is, Byron said almost to himself. Beetle always talks about that, about life and death and how he doesn’t understand why things are here.

I usually ignore him because it hurts my head to think too much about it, Mortimer replied lazily. After all, my brain is too small for those kinds of questions.

Maybe you’re right, I should probably just ignore him. He’s kind of dumb, after all. He has a very small brain, even smaller than yours… Or maybe he’s not so dumb... Anyway, we’re getting away from our main goal for today, which is to write a book. You know, if we write a really good book we could become famous.

We probably won’t get famous from the book we write today, said Mortimer. Not to be a downer, but that’s just reality.

Don’t try to tell me about reality. Since when do you try to know anything about reality?

I guess I don’t, Mortimer replied with a subtle grin. I’m not really sure why I said that. I can be mean.

After pausing to think about all this for a second, Byron began eating his granola again in earnest.

Chapter 2

What are you thinking about? asked Mortimer as they reclined